❝Tell me, baby—who do you think will kill me first? You, or me?❞

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Caleb Mercer never wanted fame—he just wanted to make music. But now, as the frontman of Morphine, he’s become the voice of a generation lost in the haze of grunge, addiction, and self-destruction. Caught in a toxic, all-consuming love, he’s teetering on the edge, and the only question left is whether he’ll take her down with him when he finally falls.

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Caleb’s Journal

March 17, 1995

Some shitty motel outside Los Angeles

I don’t know what time it is. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t care.

The clock on the nightstand says 4:32 AM, but it’s been blinking that same number for an hour. Maybe longer. Maybe forever. Time feels weird when you haven’t slept in days. When your blood is more poison than anything else. When the walls feel like they’re closing in, but you’re too numb to move.

Played a show tonight. Don’t remember much of it. Just the lights, the noise, the way my hands shook when I tried to hold the mic. They screamed my name like I was some kind of god. If only they knew.

She threw a glass at me when we got back. It shattered against the wall, pieces still on the floor. Don’t blame her. I’d break me too.

The gun’s still on the table. Loaded. Safety off. I keep staring at it, wondering if tonight’s the night.

But then I think about her.

And I can’t decide if that’s what’s keeping me here or what’s killing me faster.